


Tricks and Treats

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Blood, Gottbleed Week, Halloween, M/M, One Shot Collection, Tumblr: otpprompts, fills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4968499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven fics for the seven days of Gottbleed week (Oct. 5th-11 2015). Each story: </p><p>1. Is Gottbleed<br/>2. Fulfills an OTP prompt from tumblr<br/>3. Is newmann<br/>4. Is Halloween related</p><p>Trick or treating, costumes, haunted houses, ghosts, too much candy - and much more!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting in the Dark

Prompt: "Imagine person A from your OTP getting separated from their friends while they were inside a haunted house. Now imagine them clinging to the next person they see in fright and that person is B (who was also separated from their friends)." 

***

“Yo, Tendo? Not cool, dude… not cool at all…”

Newt took two steps into the darkened corridor, thought better of it, turned, noted the slime on the walls from where he’d come (when had that happened…?) and faced the corridor again. He made a pained sound in the back of his throat, hopping from foot to foot.

“Tendooooo,” he moaned.

No such luck. Either Newt had actually gotten separated or Tendo was being more of a jerk than usual. He knew Newt couldn’t stand haunted houses. Yeah, sure, there was some logic to grasp onto: that scratching was just some poor bloke whittling his fingernails for an extra buck (right?) and that slime back there wasn’t real slime (right??). Newt knew this was all just a gag meant to scare him, but that didn’t erase the fact that it was doing a  _really good job._

He couldn’t hear the other customers anymore. Couldn’t hear much of anything over his own heavy breathing. Newt was all too aware of the stress his body was currently undergoing, from an increased heart-rate to the sudden need to pee in his very awesome pants (dark skinny jeans hand-painted with monster skeletons, hell yeah). Newt was also aware that if he were a monster—which meant he’d be one hell of a smart one—he’d choose something just like a haunted house as his hunting ground. What better place for a snack than the one area everyone thought they were safe? Where everything was supposedly fake? The irony was too delicious to pass up.

So what if there were other, evil creatures with a taste for the ironic…?

Newt threw his arm out and pointed a stern finger at the darkness, hoping he wasn’t shaking too much.

“If there are any creepy things,” he stuttered, “you’d best not attack me. I work around chemicals all day, no telling what you’d ingest if you ate me up! And—and—I’m really small. Like, bite sized! No one wants that bite-sized shit on Halloween, so why would you? I’ll have you know I give out  _full_ sized candy bars every year and my name is Newt. I’m practically Godzilla okay, so just… just keep away…”

No answer from the darkness. Newt toed a sneaker into the shadows and pulled it back out with a mewl.

“OooooOOOOOoooOooOooooo,” sounded behind him.

“…. Oh hell no,” and Newt plunged into the corridor.

It was pitch black. He’d known it would be but still. So fucking dark, what the hell. Newt alternated between reaching his hands out and drawing them back in against his chest. He wanted to make sure he didn’t touch anything, but at the same time,  _what if he touched something?_  With a whimper Newt settled for waving one arm blindly about. Maybe the actors here would take pity on him and—

“EAAAHHHHHH!” Newt shrieked as his foot suddenly nudged against a squishy mass. It squirmed beneath him horribly, something breathing, something  _alive_.

“Noooo nononono, I touched something, I touched something, I touched—!”

“You touched me, you fool!” a voice shouted and Newt snapped his mouth shut.

He blinked. Not that that did much good in the dark.

“… who’s ‘me’?” he whispered, inching his foot forward again. Newt found the squishiness and prodded. With a yelp he jumped back when a hand swatted at his leg.

“ _Me_ ,” the voice emphasized. It sounded grumpy and… kinda human.

“You?”

“… Hermann Gottlieb, if you must know.” Newt heard the guy shifting then. It sounded like he was seated on the floor, propped against the wall. “Are you the idiot that’s been making all that racket? Good god. I’m surprised you haven’t been tossed out on your ear yet. Save me your ridiculous theatrics and move on.”

“No way!” Newt yelped. He crouched and threw out his hands until he found a bony arm under a scratchy sweater. He hung on even as Hermann tried to pull away. “Dude, you’re the first person I’ve found in here. Tendon abandoned me, you can’t leave me alone, we’re survival buddies now.”

Newt could hear the silence, could practically feel Hermann’s incredulous stare.

“You are aware,” he said slowly, “That this is not real, yes? There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“So you say, but you don’t sound very convinced, Herms.”

“Hermann.”

“Herms.”

“ _Hermann_.”

Newt grinned in the dark. Hermann’s voice sounded a little stronger now because yeah, it had been shaking before, almost as scared as Newt was despite the caustic remarks. Newt firmly patted the arm he’d found and followed the sleeve towards the hand.

“Don’t worry, dude. This shit is super scary—no harm in admitting it—but I’ve got your back now. We can—”

Newt cut himself off. He’d found Hermann’s hand alright… and it was far colder, far  _stickier_  than Newt was expecting. Trembling, he pulled away and the panicking part of his brain knew exactly what he would find before he could prove it. Newt brought his fingers to his nose, drew in a shuddering breath, and smelled that familiar, metallic tang. Blood.

“Don’t faint on me,” Hermann groused. “It’s just a bad cut. I caught my palm on one of the nails when…” he tapered off.

“When what?” Newt asked, still breathing through his mouth.

When they came, Hermann’s words were so soft Newt barely caught them.

“… when he shoved me.” He heard Hermann swallow. “I should have realized it was a prank from the start. Honestly, him wanting to date  _me_ …As soon as we hit this hall he pushed me, said some rather brutish things, and—and… well. He took my cane. It’s probably snapped in some dustbin by now. I fear that between the darkness and my lack of support, I’m quite incapable of moving. I did not intend to become a tripping hazard this night. My apologies.”

Newt was really glad that Hermann couldn’t see his bugged out eyes and gaping mouth. He wanted to scream, ‘No, don’t apologize for what that dickwad did!’ or ‘Oh my god I’m so fucking sorry,’ or even just, ‘ _Damn_.’ What came out instead though was,

“Shit, dude. Sounds like you found an actual monster in here.”

Hermann had nothing to say to that.

“Hey,” Newt’s voice rose as an idea came barreling through him. “Hey! How about I be your date tonight? Yeah! We’ll get out of this awful place, find you a new cane—where do you even get a cane this time of night? I don’t know. Target? Target has everything—and we can buy all the candy down at the drugstore, gorge ourselves on it for dinner, head back to my place, watch a bunch of monster movies—” Newt was practically bouncing in place.

Hermann was spluttering like a steaming teakettle.

“I—I—I don’t even know your name!”

“It’s Newt. Short for Newton. I’ll call you ‘Hermann’ if you call me ‘Newt.’ Aw, man. Full name vs. nickname. We’ve got some ‘opposites attract’ shit here. C’mon, c’mon. Let me improve your night. No one should be left like this on Halloween. At the very least let me patch up your hand. Bio scholar at your service.”

Newt felt giddy and jittery, his fear now fully transformed into something else. There was hot, residual anger at whatever asshole had done this to Hermann, but it was nearly overshadowed by marvel at Newt’s own good luck. What were the chances of literally tripping over a guy? He liked the sound of Hermann’s voice. His wit. Even the skeleton arm he’d felt beneath his sweater.  _That_  was appropriate for the occasion.

Perhaps even more than all this though, a part of Newt loved the idea of falling in love on Halloween.

I could happen. It would be  _awesome_.

“What about your ‘Tendo’?” Hermann’s voice had softened considerably.

“He’s not my Tendo, unless you mean ‘my friend Tendo.’ Not boyfriend. Besides, if he hasn’t come back yet he’s probably found someone else to go home with. Wow. This place is a magnet. Don’t leave me the only one hanging.”

Newt held out his hand. It was probably a stupid move given the whole pitch black hallway thing, but somehow Hermann found him. Newt felt a hesitant, slippery hand slide into his. He took it gently, mindful of the injury if not the blood.

Not now anyways. Hermann’s blood was totally different.

Newt helped him to his feet. Hermann was warm pressed against his side and Newt hummed at the feeling of another body so close to his. They rocked together a moment, Newt figuring out exactly how to manage Hermann’s balance.

“I do believe I’m getting blood on your shirt,” he whispered.

“Whatever. Adds to the Halloween-y feel. Now: Cane? Candy? Not candy cane because that’s another holiday entirely. Movie marathon? I have all the  _Scream_ s on bootleg.”

“… You don’t even know what I look like.”

“I’m about to find out,” Newt said, steering them towards the pinprick of light in the distance. “Bet you’re hot. You sound hot. But who knows, maybe my worst nightmare is coming true and I’ve picked myself up a monster.”

Hermann sniffed. “I’m the one who’s likely being kidnapped by a monster. ‘Newt.’ Honestly.”

“Monster love then, man,” New laughed. “Happy Halloween!” 


	2. Mirroring You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Imagine your OTP dressing up as each other on Halloween."

“Excuse me, Dr. Gottlieb. If you have a moment I—oh. Well  _done_ , Dr. Geiszler.”

Stacker finally caught up with the figure he’d been chasing and was quite shocked to find Newt’s face peering up at him, rather than Hermann’s. The performative scowl and stooped posture melted away as Newt’s face broke into a grin.

“Thanks, sir. Sorta a cheat though when you’ve got access to the guy’s clothes. Uh, not that I would ever pick a lock or anything…”

Indeed, Newt was decked head to toe in Hermann’s apparel (though admittedly those articles that had either been discarded or had spent so much time in the back of the closet that they weren’t likely missed). The shoes were Hermann’s oldest loafers, nearly scuffed beyond recognition and overflowing with padding to keep Newt’s feet inside them. He’d needed to shorten the pants about three miles—thank you Uncle Illia for the sewing lessons—and the undershirt + vest + cardigan + enormous coat were all the ugliest and frumpiest that Newt could get his hands on. He loved it. Throw in Hermann’s extra cane, a lot of hair gel to flatten his cut (that had actually been painful to do), some makeup to give him that I’m-a-thousand-times-smarter-than-you-but-the-price-of-that-is-not-having-slept-for-three-days look, Newt’s ancient contacts,  _more_  padding to give him a bit of lift… and the result was a rather stellar rendition of one Hermann Gottlieb.

At least from the back.

“Impressive,” Stacker said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Does the good doctor know this is your costume?”

“I’ve been filching his stuff for months now. If he doesn’t know you should fire him immediately for excessive stupidity.”

Stacker made an amused, non-committal sound. They started up their trek again, heading towards the mess hall where the Shatterdome had done their best to pull together a Halloween party, complete with scavenged decorations (Santas looks suitably creepy if you gouged their eyes a bit, right? And oranges were… well, orange) and cheap punch that the Kaidonovskys may or may not have spiked with their illicit alcohol store. That was fine. The latest projections didn’t indicate an attack due any time within the next week and if the personnel wanted to work through their hangovers, let them.

Stacker knew which battles to fight and that extended to more than just the Kaiju.

Newt side-eyed his commander, daring to nudge his leg with the cane. “Where’s your costume, sir?” He was dressed in a standard black suit, nothing out of the ordinary so far as Newt could tell.

“What?” Stacker raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?” He elegantly pulled a pair of cheap sunglasses from his inside pocket, flipped them open, and slid them onto his face. Stacker turned to Newt as he produced a pen and said quite seriously, “I promise that tomorrow morning you won’t remember a thing.” His pen clicked. 

Newt stared. Got it.

“Oh my  _god_.”

“I had Mako watch the films when she was younger,” Stacker said. “She immediately assumed I was a Man in Black. To be fair, we  _are_  fighting aliens…”

“That’s awesome!”

“That’s an easy costume.” Stacker pocketed the sunglasses again.

“Hey, you should find wherever Herc stashed Max. He could be your Frank! I’ve got a voice box somewhere that you could record with lines, attach it to his collar and—”

Newt stopped.

He stopped so completely that he nearly tripped in his too-big shoes, Stacker’s arm shooting out to steady him. That ensured that Stacker missed what had startled Newt so thoroughly and for just one second, he and Hermann were the only two in the world.

“Holy…” Newt muttered.

“What?” Hermann clucked, meeting them in the corridor. “You didn’t think I’d let your little gag go unanswered, did you?”

Just as Newt was no longer entirely himself, Hermann was no longer Hermann. Not entirely. He’d forgone his oversized sweaters and instead opted for a crisp white shirt, probably the least wrinkled bit of clothing Newt had ever seen him in. There was a black skinny tie to match and dark jeans that were sinfully tight across his thighs and ass. Newt’s brain short-circuited as he got to Hermann’s feet, wondering how Hermann had managed to get into his shoes, until he recognized a borrowed pair of Tendo’s convers. Gone were the floppy strands of hair, replaced instead with painstakingly styled wisps that Newt really,  _really_  wanted to run his hands through. Hermann had—not doubt carefully—popped out the lenses on Newt’s old glasses and he’d filched a number of bracelets that kept slipping down his hands. Crudely drawn Kaiju along Hermann’s arms completed the ensemble.

“Yes,” he said, following Newt’s gaze. “I fear that while proficient in many other areas, Ms. Mori’s artistic skills leave much to be desired.”

“It’s  _perfect_ ,” Newt breathed. Then paused. “No wait! Not perfect, dude. You can’t just be me. Generically. That doesn’t count.”

“Count?” Stacker asked. He kept looking between the two like his eyes were playing tricks on him. “Aren’t you ‘just’ Dr. Gottlieb?”

Newt scoffed. “No. I’m  _Tuesday_  Hermann—note the mauve vest—six months ago when you finally calculated the breach’s full structure.” Newt held up his fingers. They were covered with dust and, yes, that was the green chalk Hermann had used the day of his breakthrough.

Watching the two of them, Stacker didn’t miss the blush spreading fast over Hermann’s cheeks. 

Surely even he couldn’t be blind to what that attention to detail implied?

Hermann swallowed. “Very well,” he said, voice shaking slightly. To the others’ shock he pulled a swiss army knife from his jeans (with great difficulty) and before either of them could stop him, neatly sliced into his thumb. Tilting his head back, Hermann smeared the blood under his nose, allowing a few of the drops to dribble onto his chin. He stuck his thumb into his mouth to stop the bleeding as Newt gaped.

“I’m Newton Geiszler, September 8th, 2020.”

“… Oh,” Newt squeaked.

“The day Dr. Geiszler confronted Ranger Morstan on his rather… inappropriate treatment towards you, Doctor Gottlieb. I do believe the result was a broken nose and glasses?” Stacker nodded at the looks he received. “Come now. I know everything that goes on in this Shatterdome, including fights of honor.”

Newt began to choke. Hermann was torn between looking away in mortification and throwing off a hasty, apologetic salute.

“Excellent costumes, gentlemen. Both of you. It’s quite the treat to have you two getting along. Do keep it up.”

Stacker strode away, finally allowing himself a smile once his back was turned. He could hear Newt and Hermann muttering behind him, sounding as if they were just inches from one another:

“— _told_  him?”  

“No way!”

“Honestly, honor—”

“Dude, you’re still bleeding…”

“—it’s fine—”

“—gonna win the costume contest for sure.”

“Yes, because that’s the most pressing matter here. Really, Newton.”

Stacker smiled wider, slipping his sunglasses back on as he entered the mess hall. His pen stayed where it was.

Because he hoped with all his heart that Newt and Hermann  _did_  remember this night.

Always. 

 


	3. Pumpkin Patches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Imagine your OTP pumpkin carving together. Except A ends up having the biggest debate with B over why in the world would Be want to carve a duck out of all things."

“Do be careful. The last thing we need is you slicing through an artery. That would make for a grisly scene, hmm?”

Newt rolled his eyes, but he did drop the knife from where he’d been digging it into the cutting board. It wobbled on its point for just a moment before toppling, coming down with a hard ‘ _smack!_ ’ Newt pursed his lips at the sight and let out a forlorn sigh.

It was all ridiculously dramatic.

“Aren’t you done yet?” he whined.

“Nearly.”

Hermann finished slicing through the second pumpkin, putting the top aside, beginning the arduous process of scooping out the innards. Each spoonful was carefully examined for seeds, which were then plucked out and placed in a nearby bowl. Hermann got through four spoonfuls before Newt let out a wail.

“Oh my god, dude, you’re so SLOW.”

Hermann sniffed. “Do you want these toasted or not?”

“It’s like freaking corn in the summer: pick off one strand of silk… and another… and aaaaannooooootheeer… just shuck the damn thing!” Newt slammed down both fists for emphasis.

“Perfection takes time, I’m afraid.”

“Your  _face_  is perfection.”

“Why thank you.”

“Shuddup.”

Newt threw his head down onto his arms, peered up, sullenly took a sip of his cider, let out another sigh. He picked up the knife and aimed it like a javelin at the nearby pumpkin.

“What are you going to carve then?” He asked, shutting one eye for aim. “The code again?”

“No, no. This time I think I’ll attempt a Jaeger. Coyote Tango perhaps.”

Newt grinned. That would be great. Most wouldn’t think it looking at him, but Hermann was a wicked good pumpkin carver. It was all just angles, planning, understanding light distribution—at least that’s what he claimed. Sure, he was a little slow (“Snail-Man,” Newt said) because his hands had a tendency to shake, but he’d yet to produce a pumpkin that wouldn’t make the Internet proud. Not that Hermann let him post pictures. Their neighbors were the only ones who got to enjoy the final product. They’d lived in this house just two years now, attempting to escape some of the fame by fleeing to the suburbs (“I could get used to this,” Hermann said, bare toes sinking into the grass) and already everyone knew him as ‘that mathematician who carves numbers into his pumpkins every Halloween.’ Newt wondered if they knew those numbers were the code that had saved their asses. Whatever. Sounded like Hermann was branching out this year though. Everyone would recognize a Jaeger.

“Carve it fighting a Kaiju.”  

“Absolutely not. Do you want our house egged?”

“Carve it fighting a Kaiju and winning.”

“No.”

“Monster, Hermann. C’mon.”

“You carve a monster if you want one so badly.”

Hermann smirked down at his pumpkin, now cleared of mush and seeds. He may have been known around town for his exceptional carving, but Newt was just as famous for his atrocious creations. Last year’s anime montage—a hack and slash collection of indecipherable images—had resulted in many teasing comments.

“Do you know what you’ll be making?” Hermann asked innocently. He slid the empty pumpkin over.

Newt nodded. “A duck.”

“… a  _what_?”

“A duck, man. What’s scarier than that?”

“Literally anything else.” Hermann set down the knife. “A  _duck_?”

“They chase you, peck at your feet—”

“You’re thinking of geese, Newton. Or swans.”

“ALL fowls, Hermann. Trust me. They’re webbed, feathered devils that are sure to terrify the kiddies.”

“For the love of—very well. If you want to attempt a duck, by all means…”

Hermann huffed and ran an exasperated hand over his face. As he did he was surprised to find a heavy wetness there. He pulled back and saw a smear of dark red marring his palm.

“Oh well done,” Hermann muttered. “Your stupidity has liquefied my brain.” He staggered.

“Whoa, whoa.”

Newt was there, guiding Hermann onto the stool and then supporting him so he wouldn’t fall backwards. Ignoring his grumps about stains, Newt pressed a dishtowel to Hermann’s nose and encouraged him to tilt his head back.

“Aw shit.”

Hermann craned his neck and turned against Newt’s chest. He discovered three drops marring his turtleneck. Newt was bleeding too.

“Shit indeed,” Hermann said and passed him half the towel.

This was fairly normal for them. Even years after their drift they still got nosebleeds, nearly always within minutes of one another. Emergency calls from either had become standard during lectures: “Heads up. You’re about to start bleeding. Don’t scare the students,” etc. They’d seen all the PPDC doctors of course, all of whom claimed that they were as (relatively) healthy as they’d been prior to the drift. Ghost drifting and a sustained neural connection were common in long-term pilots… Newt and Hermann just happened to draw the short end of the straw that included nosebleeds.

Which was lovely. Still, better than death or vegetation, right?

“This feels like a long one,” Hermann groused. He leant his head back against Newt’s chest and pinched his nose as hard as he dared. He could vaguely  _feel_  Newt doing the same.

“I think a migraine is starting up too.”

“I was trying to ignore that.”

“Sorry.”

They lapsed into silence for a time, both of them trying to think of anything beyond the blood they felt pooling around their throats. Hermann winced at the ruined towel and how much it had already soaked up.

“Remind me to pick up iron supplements.”

“You realize this is the ducks’ fault.”

“… what are you on about?”  

“Docs said intense emotion could trigger these, right? It’s spooky, Herms.”

“I am not bleeding because I’m afraid of ducks!” Hermann waved his hand erratically to emphasize the ridiculousness of the conversation. “Where did this phobia even come from? I recall nothing about ducks in our drift.”

Newt shivered against him. “Too traumatizing, man. Think I blocked it out.”

“You’re absurd.”

“Probably. Still thinking about the bleeding though?”

Hermann paused. Newt—damn him—was right. For just a second his mind had stopped focusing on the blood and Hermann noted with a start that the stream was tapering off. Newt’s was the same, both of them able to throw the towel straight into the bin, both of them simultaneously massaging their foreheads. The migraine was still looming, but they might be able to nip it in the butt with some quick Advil.

“Shower and nap?” Hermann suggested. He reached for his cane. “The little ones won’t be coming until five at the earliest. There’s plenty of time to finish our pumpkins before then.”

Newt gave an unexpectedly massive yawn. “Sure. You gonna help me carve my duck so it actually looks duck-like?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeease?”

“Newton.”

“I’ll give you massage.”

“….”

“Score.”

***

Six hours later a mother approached with her son and found two pumpkins adorning the Gottlieb-Geiszler residence. Sally was new to the area, having just unpacked her kitchen stuff, and thus far what she’d seen of the neighborhood was pretty standard…

Except for those pumpkins.

One depicted a fully functioning Jaeger, the light of the candle shining out through the power cell in its chest. It had its blasters aimed fiercely at the second pumpkin, bearing a duck that looked as if it had mutated horribly through radiation. Or had been engineered in a lab by some pseudo-scientist.

Basically it had a lot of teeth and webbed claws. And it was foaming at the mouth. Vividly.

“Okay then…” Sally said.

The occupants looked welcoming enough though. There was a man lounging on a porch swing with a bowl positively overflowing with candy. His partner sat on the railing, beckoning them over.

“Hey there! Happy Halloween! If we start bleeding unexpectedly don’t worry, it’s all part of the show.”

“ _Newton_.”

The man—Newton—shrugged, turning to her son. “Ignore the pissbaby. What’s your name, kid?”

“Roger,” he said, already eyeing the sweets.

“You like candy, Roger?”

“Yeah.”

“Like the pumpkins?”

“Uh huh.”

“Like ducks?”

“…They’re kinda mean.” (Newton shot his partner a look).

“Too right, little dude. Too right. You’re smarter than some I could mention. Now, the most important question of all: what are you for Halloween?”

“I’m a Ranger!” Roger yelled. He proudly displayed his mini bomber jacket and boots. They hadn’t had time to do everything yet, but Sally had made sure she got Roger his costume. She smiled at the way Newton’s face lit up.

“A Ranger? Really? Alright! Four for you, kid, you win the jackpot. Go grab a selection from Hermann over there. Take, like, six candy bars. Seven if you want. Just grab a handful. Go crazy.”

“Not too crazy,” Hermann murmured, but he happily pushed the bowl toward Roger as he bounded up the steps. “Ma’am? Pardon my presumption, but are you new in town?”

“Yeah,” Sally said. She shrugged self-consciously. “Only got here two weeks ago.”

“Then perhaps you’d care to take a break and join us for a glass of hot cider?”

Newton grinned. “Oh yeah. Do. Hermann’s got the best cider recipe ever. And your kid likes Rangers? You’ve gotta hang for a bit then.” His grin widened. “Man, have we got some stories for you…”  


	4. Across the Divide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Imagine Person A of your OTP is a ghost. Person A can see Person B all year, but cannot speak to them, while B can only see and talk to A around the time they died, which happens to be near Halloween. B wants to spend time with them before they disappear again, so they decide to go trick or treating together, with A dressing up as a ghost so no one suspects they're actually dead. They get a few weird looks, since B is pretty old to be trick or treating, but everything mostly goes off without a hitch. At the end of the night, A kisses B on the nose and thanks them for the fun night, before disappearing again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: thoughts/mention of suicide in this story

Hermann was at it again… and by ‘it’ Newt meant nothing. At all. Ever.

He read boring math textbooks. He made boring meals. He listened to boring ass music and went to bed at seriously boring hours. Basically, if Newt weren’t already dead he’d be worried about dying of BOREDOM.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Newt shrieked when Hermann finally got up, stretched… only to move to the armchair directly from the couch. “You haven’t done shit in two weeks straight! Would you please just leave the house? Or maybe blow it up?  _Something?_  Oh my god, do not tell me that I fell in love with such a noob–”

Newt smacked a hand over his mouth. At least he tried. His body passed through itself just as easily as it passed through everything else, but the intent was there. As well as the mortification.

“I did not just say the ‘L’ word. Hell to the fuck to the no. Am I blushing? I’m probably blushing. Silver blush happening right here, dammit…”

Newt circled Hermann, settling over his shoulder where he found another– _another_ –math text. One he’d already read!

“Dude, this is ridiculous.” Newt passed his head through Hermann’s, hoping to at least cause a shiver. “What’s gotten into you? I’m starting to suspect a conspiracy–”

_–Hermann stood at the kitchen counter, preparing his morning coffee, wrapped in a robe, hair still wet, toes cold on the tile, thinking about getting the newspaper, no, too cold out, nothing important, the frost was awful this year, nearly November, nearly, Halloween, Newton, probably watching, bastard, Hermann tightened his robe, peered around curiously, insufferable ghost, no privacy whatsoever, none, awful, what an annoyance, Hermann could give as well as he got, let the foolish man suffer, dead man, just for a while, a smirk, a huff, there was plenty to read–_

Newt didn’t breathe anymore, but he still automatically gasped when the vision ended. Five years in and he still wasn’t used to that–falling unexpectedly into Hermann’s head. His memories and emotions. Must be a ghost thing because he sure hadn’t done _that_  while he was alive.

“Dude,” he said, appalled. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Newt flew to get right up in his face. “You’re deliberately being a boring ass!”

Hermann’s eyes met his. “Indeed.”

Newt yelped, tumbling backwards and floating towards the ceiling. He drifted halfway through to the second floor before he stopped his momentum.

“You… you can see me!”

“Mm hmm,” Hermann agreed. He returned to his book. “Did you not note the date? Today is Halloween.”

Newt scowled. “You should warn a ghost when you can hear ‘em and see ‘em again, Herms. Also you’re a dick. Is this your idea of fun now? Huh? Boring me to death?”

“Yes,” he drawled. “Your _after_ -death? Perhaps. Or maybe I thought that if I simply slowed things down around here you’d find someone else to haunt.”

“No way, dude. You’re stuck with me. Especially now.”

Newt fidgeted three inches above the carpet. He wasn’t about to admit that he  _could_  go off and haunt someone else if he wanted. But he didn’t. Want to, that is. Why he cared for this grumpy grump, Newt couldn’t say, but he’d gotten pretty good at accepting the inevitable. Death kinda did that to you.

“Stuck with me,” he emphasized, pointing a spectral finger.

“Pity that.”

“Also–I’ve been waiting a goddamn year to tell you this–your research is dry, man. Spice it up a bit! And move the couch back. It looks stupid over here. And why didn’t you keep that stray?? Oh my god, I named her Mecha and you just took her away! Ryan–kid next door?–he’s the one whose been leaving mice in the mailbox FYI. Also we’re going trick or treating this year. And there’s a hole in the back of your pajamas I don’t think you’ve noticed yet, and–”

“I’m sorry,” Hermann said. He slowly looked up. “What was that last one?”

Newt grinned innocently. “You’ve got a hole in your PJs?”

“No. The other one.”

“Oh yeah. I’m taking you trick or treating. No backing out! Non negotiable! It’s set and done, dude.”

“Newton–”

“No worries.” Newt splayed his arms and did a flip in midair. “I’ve got a totally foolproof plan.”

***

“A sheet?” Hermann said. He stared at his bed before wearily leaning against the headboard: the picture of defeat.

“Great, right?”

“Idiotic.”

“Aw c’mon.”

“You’re incorporeal!”

“Only most of the time.”

That got Hermann’s attention. He straightened, furrowed his brow, gnawed a bit at his lower lip… it was times like this that Newt wished he could control the whole ‘diving into your head’ thing. He wanted to know what Hermann was thinking.

Always.

“Explain,” he said tersely. Hermann stamped his cane in impatience.

“Took me a while to figure out,” Newt said, circling the bed. “Remember the toaster way back? And the bookshelf? Yeah, those were accidents. Then I’m like, ‘Hey! It’s just like the movies! I can control shit in the living world.’ Except that instead of getting better at it a la  _Ghost_ , I just got sorta drained. I can interact with whatever I want, but I guess I’m kinda like a battery. Only so much juice over so much time, see? So I’ve been saving up. Plenty stored, enough to control a sheet for a couple of hours easy peasy. Can’t miss the chance to dress up, man. Otherwise you know I would have been chucking things at your head the last two weeks…”

“So you intend to be a ghost?” The slightest smile tugged at Hermann’s lips.

“Yeah. Long sheet so no one knows I’m actually floating.”

“Inspired.”

“Where are your scissors? Gotta cut me some eye holes.”

“Eye—? Don’t you dare!”

***

Newt did dare and two hours later they were out on the street, Newt in his sheet and Hermann in a hastily constructed fourth Doctor costume.

“This is absurd,” he muttered. Hermann edged closer to his companion. “For the love of decency, Newton. I’m thirty-two years old.  _You’re_  ancient.”

“Dude. I died in 2014. I’m a year younger than you.”

Hermann blinked. “Really? Ah, I… I suppose I’d always assumed you’d haunted that house long before I moved in.”

“Nah. Besides, I died in skinny jeans. Not exactly vintage material.” Newt motioned to his ever-present outfit. “Huh. Wonder what happens with the poor sods that die naked.”

“Please don’t.”

“Besides! No one is too old for trick or treating. Right, Ma’am? Trick or treat!”

The woman peered at them curiously from her doorway, two kids peeking out from behind her legs. Her wife gave a snort of laughter at them and waved on her way to the kitchen. 

“Ah. Yes. T-trick or treat?” Hermann asked, blushing. He prayed that the sheet and Newton’s voice made her think that he was younger than he actually was. While alive, that is. Perhaps she thought Hermann was his father.

…oh heaven forbid.

She seemed more amused than anything though. “Happy Halloween,” she said and held out the bowl of candy. Hermann immediately honed in on the Milky Ways and took one without regret.

“ _Ahem_ ,” Newt muttered.

Closing his eyes in mortification, Hermann reached back and took a Kit-Kat too. He placed it in the second bag he was carrying for Newton.

The woman stared.

“Are you a ghost?” the little girl asked, staring curiously. Newt ducked down to look at her and Hermann subtly put his cane over the sheet so it wouldn’t fly up with the tail end of him.

“Sure am.” Newt made spooky noises until she giggled. 

“How’d you die?”

“ _Jessica_ ,” he mom admonished. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries. It was a lab accident. Ever heard of nickel hydrazine perchlorate? ‘Course you haven’t. Well a bit of advice, kiddo: don’t make more than 100mgs of the stuff and don’t try to crush it with your mortar and pestle. Explosions are fun, but not when they kill ya.”

“…Oh,” the girl said. She stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“Well that’s…remarkably specific…” The woman started closing the door.

“He takes his costumes seriously,” Hermann muttered and shuffled Newt away as fast as he could.

“It’s true, dude! That shit is dangerous. Warn ‘em young I say.”

“Not  _that_ young,” Hermann snapped. With a sigh he lead them to a nearby bench, sitting carefully on the damp wood. He shivered a bit in the cold. “I am sorry, Newton. I… had no idea you’d died that way.”

“No worries. Besides, death has its perks.”

“Like tormenting me?”

“… Yeah. Maybe… Whatever.”

Hermann smiled. “I suppose there are worse ways to go—”

_–Hermann sitting on a bench, two bags of candy in his lap, shivering slightly, otherwise warm, Newton beside him, Newton, his one true companion, five years now, insufferable man, looks ridiculous in that sheet, handsome otherwise though, foolish, a ghost, death, dying, might not be so bad, pills in the upstairs cabinet, sharp knife in the kitchen, right across the carotid, so much blood, spilling into the tile, between the crevices, stains, permanent, but him and Newton, forever—_

Newt heaved, as much as he remembered how. He slapped a hand at Hermann’s chest and this time he must have felt it because he tried throwing an arm over his shoulders, his hands passing right through Newt of course. But the intent was there and Newt latched onto it, ripping his sheet so he could stare Hermann down.

“ _Don’t you dare_ ,” he snarled. “Don’t you fucking dare! Just—just don’t! Okay?  _Okay?_ ”

“You…?” Hermann sucked in a breath as he realized. “You can see…? They’re just thoughts, Newton. Not actions.”

“Well don’t let them become actions. _Ever._  Oh fuck, Hermann. I’ll… I’ll still  _be_  here. For when it happens. When it… when it’s natural…”

Hermann swallowed. “Yes?” he asked, voice small.

“Yeah.”

“Well then…”

“Oh shit,” Newt said suddenly. He floated a little closer as he felt the change. “I think that’s it, dude. Wow, that’s some messed up timing.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Sucks. Didn’t feel as long as usual.”

Hermann let out a laugh that sounded slightly wild. “It was. I could see you most of today.” He shook as he swallowed again. “Long before you said you loved me.”

“…  _oh_.”

“Yes.”

Newt noted that Hermann’s eyes were beginning to look through him rather than at him. He looked down and saw the sheet sinking onto the bench.

He had just enough time left.

Newt floated forward and pressed a kiss to Hermann’s forehead. They both closed their eyes, only one of them able to breathe out in satisfaction.

“Eat that candy for me,” Newt murmured.

“Very well.” 

“And you promise not to…?”

“I promise.” 

“Good.” 

 “… I’ll see you in a year.”

“I’ll see you in just a sec.”

Then silence. Hermann had only an empty sheet curled against his chest. Newton was gone.

But Hermann didn’t walk home alone.


	5. Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Imagine your OTP/3 as kids, trick-or-treating together. When they get back to A's house after, they spend hours trading candy, eating candy, and regretting eating so much candy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: vomit and hints of an abusive father in this story

“Like this,” Newt said. He ripped open a mini Milky Way, a mini Three Musketeers, and then sandwiched a Rolo between them. With an exaggerated roar he chomped down and pulled at the gooeyness in satisfaction.

Hermann grimaced, looking rather green around his cheeks. “Father is going to whack us both if you get chocolate on the sheets.”

“He’d have to catch me first.” Newt peered curiously at the cane Hermann had gotten just two weeks before. It lay between them on the bed, acting as a divider for their candy stashes. “I could give you a piggyback ride if we need to run away.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” Hermann pressed a hand hard against his stomach.

Newt scooped up a random collection of sweets and dropped them into Hermann’s pile. He noted that two lollipops were included which normally he’d fight to the death for, but this time it was okay. Hermann deserved them.

“Here. Eat more before he gets back. He’s just gonna take it all away, right?”

Hermann forcibly shook his head. “Yes, but… I think I’ve eaten enough.”

“Pff. Never.”

“Really, Newt…”

Hermann looked up, his pallor having changed suddenly from green to snow-white. The night had already been tiring for him, between traipsing from house to house and the general excitement of the season. When they’d gotten back to Hermann’s house Newt had helped him undo his Bill Nye bowtie, Hermann’s hands just a little too shaky. It was nice. Sorta. Hermann didn’t let anyone else help him with stuff like that. Not even the teachers at school. They’d curled next to each other after that and divvied up the loot. Newt had unwrapped all the candies too, passing them one by one to Hermann, encouraging him to eat before Mr. Gottlieb got back and yelled about ‘foolishness’ again. He was always yelling about something. Better to eat all the treats before any were confiscated. That’s what Halloween was all about, right?

Now Newt wondered.

“You okay?” He asked. Newt reached forward to feel Hermann’s forehead (he was going to do cool bio things when he grew up, he totally knew how to take temperatures) but Hermann pulled away with a groan. “Whoa. Okay. You can hide the rest of yours at my place if you want.”

Hermann managed a wane smile. “You’d do that?” he whispered.

“Yeah. ‘Course. I’d do anything for–shit!”

Without warning Hermann vomited all over Newt’s lap. One moment he was still pale and rubbing his stomach, the next he was hunched over, gripping the sheets, spewing a putrid mess all over his friend’s jeans. Newt froze and stared at it a moment, noting with sick fascination that there were thin threads of dark red blood interspersed with the yellow chunkiness. It was probably just from Hermann’s nosebleed earlier, but the sight still made Newt grip Hermann’s hair in fear. He’d buried his head in misery against the clean side of Newt’s thigh, trembling.

“–anything for you,” Newt finished with a squeak. “Even letting you vomit on me. Wow. Okay. This is fine. Um… how does your dad feel about  _vomit_ on the sheets?”

Hermann’s only response was a pained groan. He curled into a little ball and pressed himself against the hand in his hair.

“This is fine,” Newt repeated. “Yeah! This is super simple. I’m gonna shower and… and borrow some pants. You’re gonna rest. We’ll hide the sheets in the washer and when you’re feeling up to it we’ll sneak back to my place. A sleepover. We’ll have my uncle call Mr. Gottlieb. He’ll do it. And… we can eat the rest of the candy another day. Okay?”

“… Okay.” It was said very quietly against Newt’s skin.

“Hermann?”

“Mm?”

“It really is okay.”

Hermann closed his eyes, trying to block out the smell, the taste in his mouth, how his whole body felt like it was shaking now… he concentrated instead on Newt’s voice and the fingers against his scalp. On where they were going.

“Yes. It is now.”


	6. My Kind of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Imagine person A of your OTP dressed up as a sexy cop for Halloween and person B keeps surrendering to person A by saying, 'I've been very bad, you should arrest me.'"

“Hey, officer. Hey, heeeeey.”

Hermann closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. This was why he carried the extra baton and a cartridge of mace. This was why he thanked the cold weather - an excuse to wear layers underneath his uniform and make himself appear bulkier than he actually was. This was why he sometimes thought about quitting.

This was why Hermann hated Halloween.

Resigned, he leaned against his squad car and looked to the fool calling him from across the street. He appeared at first glance to be like every other ruffian Hermann had dealt with: stupidly tight jeans, sneakers, a rumpled shirt with some truly disgusting stains on it, matted hair, cheeky grin… a beer in one hand that missed his mouth when he tipped it back.

The guy was absolutely plastered.

“Move along, sir,” Hermann said. He made a shooing motion like the guy was a troublesome cat. “If you need a ride I can call a cab for you. If not, I believe there was a party two blocks that way… unless you’ve already come from there,” he muttered.

“Party!” The guy cheered. He raised his can and Hermann was horrified to see him stumbling across the street towards him.

“Sir–”

“Yoo shouwd come to the pwarty,” he slurred. “You’re like… suuuuuper hot in that.”

Hermann pursed his lips. At the same time though, he felt a light blush spreading across his cheeks. The man was actually quite handsome upon closer inspection. He wore a tie tossed over one shoulder (was he normally an upstanding member of society? Astounding) and a pair of cat ears that Hermann suddenly wanted to run his fingers over. He made fists against such a ridiculous desire.

“ _So_  hot,” the guy emphasized. He sloshed some of his drink.

Hermann scowled. “Sir. There are children on these streets tonight. Please–”

“Like, how’d you like…  _get_ that costume? It’s SVU cop hot, man. Your…” The man trailed off, waving his hands to indicate an hourglass figure.

Hermann was reasonably sure he’d never had what could be considered curves in his life. He wondered if the man was seeing double.

“How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?” With a sigh Hermann picked up his cane and grabbed his flashlight off his belt, trying to peer into the man’s eyes.

“Don’t… don’t be like that…” He winced away from the glare. “Gotta tell me where you got your threads first…”

“I’m afraid I didn’t get my ‘threads’ anywhere other than my graduation ceremony.” Hermann pinched his nose at the hazy look he got. “I’m an actual cop, sir.”

The man’s mouth unhinged. “ _No_.”

“Yes.”

“No waaaaay.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You’re way too hot to be a cop!”

For all the annoyance, Hermann let a small smile slip. It wasn’t often that the drunks around here were so tame, particularly on Halloween. Normally they’d be causing mass mayhem of all sorts, or at least trying to start a fight. Most thought they could take him because of the cane and, admittedly, Hermann only had so much sprinting power in him. His partner, Officer Hansen, had taken the night off to take his son trick or treating and Hermann was just grateful that this guy wasn’t making him try to chase him down. It probably wouldn’t have ended well.

Besides, when was the last time anyone had claimed Hermann was “too hot” for anything? He wasn’t exactly Cop Calendar material. Sure, the man was drunk beyond belief and was likely hallucinating some female model in nothing but a badge… but Hermann could pretend.

Especially with this one. The drunks weren’t normally this cute either.

“Go home, sir,” Hermann said. He dared to lay a hand on the guy’s shoulder, noting how warm it was. “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink tonight. Do you know where your house is?”

“No!” He yelped. Then the guy shook his head, rocking dangerously. “I… I  _know_ where my house is. But I’m not leaving. You’re hot!” He said it like that was all the logic needed.

“Sir–”

The man grabbed hold of Hermann’s arm in turn, shaking him passionately. “Officer.  _Officer._  You gotta arrest me. I… I  _need_  you to arrest me.”

Hermann shook his head. Even if he’d wanted to bend the rules a bit and tow this guy in - listening to him during the ride back might be amusing - there just wasn’t room. Their small jail was currently reserved for miscreants from tonight’s activities, those who committed actual assault and property damage. This guy, though wasted, was about as harmful as a complimentary teddy bear. Hermann couldn’t arrest him.

Even if a part of him kind of wanted to.

“–handcuffs,” the guy was saying, a little too excitedly. “I’ve been  _so_  bad. A bad, bad boy. You should… you should reeeeeally arrest me.”

“And that’s quite enough.” Hermann disentangled himself from the grabby hands. “Sir. Sir! I have no reason to arrest you. Please return to your home.”

The man blinked. “Reason? Like… like wha?”

Hermann snorted. “You? At this point you’d have to physically assault me… sir?”  

Hermann heard the crack of his nose before he felt it. His body torqued with the force of the guy’s fist, his aim and strength astounding considering his alcohol level. Hermann hit the pavement hard, his cane flying, his palms scraping across pebbles as he tried to stop his momentum. He peered in disbelief at the blood beading up all over his hands. Hermann coughed and choked as far more blood started pouring from his nose.

“ _You bastard!_ ” he shrieked, voice thick.

The man was hopping behind him. “Am I arrested now?”

“Yes you’re fucking arrested!”

“Yeeeeah! Arrested by the hot cop!”

The man bounded for the police cruiser, Hermann furiously stumbling after him.

***

Newt awoke seven hours later to the clinking of bars and one hell of a headache.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. He was lying in a jail cell, his mouth tasting like a whole family of possums had up and died there. Newt tenderly reached into his hair and pulled the cat ears off. The soft fur was crushing his skull.

“Oh my god,” he moaned again.

“Finally awake?”

Newt peered blearily through the bars. There was a cop leaning there, his uniform stained all down the front and two tissues stuffed up his nostrils. He looked about as pleased as Newt felt.

“Good morning, Mr…” the cop checked what Newt recognized was his own wallet. “Geiszler.  _Dr._ Geiszler. How fascinating. I’m Officer Gottlieb. You broke my nose last night.”

Newt’s eyes bugged. “Oh… shit.”

“Yes,” Hermann drawled.

“Am… am I in a lot of trouble?”

“A lifetime’s worth I’d say.”

To Newt’s shock, Hermann pulled out a key and opened the door.

“Get up, Geiszler. You’ve already been sentenced: you’re buying me breakfast and taking me on a date Friday night. I highly recommend that you carry this punishment out to the best of your ability. Otherwise I can’t guarantee that you won’t be punished further.”

Newt waited all of a nanosecond. 

“Yes,  _sir!_ ” 

 


	7. Paying the Bills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Your OTP are college students who meet when they are both cast to work in a local haunted attraction for Halloween."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short (and very stupid) ficlet to finish off the week! Would have written something better but I’m not feeling well tonight. Apologies. Still, glad I was able to meet my own challenge. Hope you all had fun! ^_^

“What about blood on the walls? It doesn’t have to be real.”

“No.”

“My uncle’s got a chainsaw.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Chickens?”

Hermann looked up from his book, his brow furrowed. “ _Chickens?_ ”

Newt shrugged. “Salmonella is a serious issue.”

Hermann slowly shut his eyes. “Newton, I assure you, the attraction is quite scary enough without your… additions.”

He tried to return to his book, but Newt was more than a little distracting, making pitiful whining noises and peering through the peephole installed in their closet. They were stationed at the very end of the haunted hospital, charged with flipping a recording of eerie voices and setting off a series of pulleys. That would cause a group of ‘ghost patients’ to soar through the air, all of which was supposedly horrifying enough to scare the participants through the back door and out into freedom.

Newt didn’t think so.

“We gotta add something, dude,” he grumbled. “This haunting sucks.”

“We’re not here to judge its merits.” Hermann slowly turned a page, even though it was really too dark for him to read. “I assume that you, like me, are merely here for some extra cash?”

“Well yeah.”

“Humanities debts?” He asked, peering upwards. There was only the slightest hint of scorn in his voice.

Newt grinned though. “Bio PhD, actually.  _You’re_  the one with the book.”

“Maths,” Hermann drawled. “Though I am also working on my doctorate. At least now we know where us grads go to pay off our loans…” he snorted at his own words.

“Grads…” Newt said slowly.

“Yes? What about us?”

Newt turned and though it was dark - though Hermann had only known the fool a few nights - he’d begun to recognized that look. Something like fear made its way down his spine.

“ _What,_  Newton?”

“Most of the guys out here,” Newt jerked his thumb at the peephole. “They’re undergrads.”

“Yes. So?”

“So we’re adults.”

“ _And?_ ” Hermann was beginning to lose patience. He slammed his book shut, then immediately wished he had something to hide behind as Newt turned a fearsome grin his way.

“Sooooo, what do kiddies like that fear more than anything else? Huh?  _Huh?_  The idea of two adults getting it on, that’s what!”

Hermann gapped at the man thrusting his hips obscenely.

“You don’t mean you want to–?”

“Do something other than sit in this cramped space all night? Hell yeah I do. C’mon, Herms!”

Thus that was - oddly enough - how one Hermann Gottlieb ended up making out in a supposedly haunted hospital, exhibiting more of an exhibitionist streak than he’d have ever assumed he had. It was how he tumbled off a bed with a partner for the first time (“It’s too damn dark in here!”), managed to cut himself on the rusty headboard (“Want me to kiss it better?” “Gods no! I probably need a tetanus shot, for the love of-”), and got to smack his first partner for daring to cop a feel (“We agreed kissing only!” “Okay, okay, shit, now  _I’m_ bleeding!”). The whole debacle lasted a week, leaving plenty of time for practice…

That was also the year ticket prices for the University’s haunting attraction increased tenfold.

Beneficial he supposed. Every penny counts.

Though in truth, Hermann walked away from that experience with far more than a check in his pocket.

Far more indeed.


End file.
